An unlikely dragonborn
by ShyphenLister
Summary: The grandson of the Nerevarine has a lot to live up to. Sent to Skyrim for an unknown purpose, will he succeed in meeting those expectations?
1. Chapter 1: Solstheim

Solstheim is a harsh place. It's where I grew up, but it's not the land of my ancestors. I'm Nerevar the second, named after my grandfather. No doubt you've heard of him. He saved Morrowind from the Sharmat Dagoth Ur and was finally killed defending the remnants of the land of my ancestors from the Argonians. Thanks to them, and Red Mountain's eruption, my people can no longer live in Morrowind proper.

Being named after him, most folk, mainly the older Dunmer, expect me to be like him- some great hero. But I'm not. I can barely cast a spell, or swing a sword, and I fainted the last time my grandmothers made me try on some of my grandfather's old armour. Sure, my grandmothers prophesy greatness in my future, but they're just old women, nostalgic over the past. After all, I'm no great battlemage like my grandfather, I'm the pitiful son of an ebony miner. All I really want to do is join the Temple and help the poor, even if I don't care too much about the 'venerate your ancestors' bit. Of course, being to compared to one of your ancestors all day every day, Morndas to Sundas, does that to you. I did, however, like the stories about the gods of Almsivi, even if my attempts to be like Lord Vivec failed.

Every time I applied, however, the Archcanon would decline it directly. I would get a politely worded letter saying "The Tribunal Temple has no use for your services at this time, please try again in future. Almsivi watch over you." After the third such letter I went to the Temple directly to meet with the Archcanon. I slipped out of the tower early in the morning trying to evade detection by my grandmothers. The temple was empty save for a few acolytes and a handful of Ordinators, most of whom were beginning to show age- the younger generation has very little faith.

My grandmothers thought that was a good thing, claiming Lord Vivec promised my grandfather the Dunmer would return to the traditional worship of the good Daedra and our ancestors. The Ordinators, however, blamed lack of faith for the destruction of Vivec City, and the subsequent eruption of Red Mountain. Today's Ordinators are mostly ones left over from Morrowind, the ones that were stationed away from Vivec at the time of Baar Dau's descent. As such, the youngest true Ordinator is nearly four hundred years old- excluding the new initiates.

I approached the nearest attendant, who was arranging coda flowers in front of a statue of Vivec. "Excuse me, is the archcanon free?"I asked politely. The attendant looked around, saw it was me and scooted away from me slightly. "He is." he responded, and gestured for an Ordinator. Two came over and I was led, like a criminal to his office. He looked at me and waved them away.

"I see you are no longer satisfied with the letters, then?" He asked, once we were alone save for a single Ordinator. "I just want to ask why, sera. Why have I been declined when there a few enough people in the Temple as it is?" I replied. The Archcanon sighed and picked up a piece of paper that I soon realized was about me. "Nerevar Menas, correct? Supposed grandson of the Nerevarine." I nodded. "That's me, sera. Although there's no supposed about it, I am related to him." I replied. The Archcanon shook his head. "Before the destruction of Morrowind, do you have any idea how many women came to the temple claiming their offspring was of the Nerevarine?"

It was my turn to shake my head. "But sir, my grandmother lived with him. Is it not more likely that I am descended from the Nerevarine than the others?" The Archcanon slammed his fist on his desk. "No! For all the Temple cares you are the grandson of Lady Menas and an Ashlander! The Nerevarine never married, so the Temple does not recognize any heirs of him." The Archanon calmed slightly. "Also, there was another man who spent a lot of time at the tower. A Telvanni Mage-lord named Aryon. Official Temple sources say he is most likely your actual grandfather."

I felt slightly offended, so I changed the topic. "I'm more interested in why I have been denied entry into the Temple, sera." I said, trying to remain polite. "Well, there are many reasons. Firstly, is that you have been raised by heretic Daedra worshippers, who not only flagrantly worship bad Daedra, but also keep vital religious relics from the Temple, such as the Nerevarine's remains." I crossed my arms. "So it's my background? You are concerned about their influence on my faith? Or are you trying to leverage me into stealing my ancestor's remains from my own kin?"

The archcanon sighed. "Yes, yes, and no. The temple does not condone theft, even from heretics. We admire your commitment, as well as your kinship with your ancestors, but we must not be seen to be lenient on Daedra worshippers. Putting you in a temple position would be detrimental to the faith of the people. Some of the older members feel even allowing you to enter the building is an affront to Almsivi, but I reassured them that it's a sign that Daedra worshippers can change their ways."

His words reflected the general feeling around the town about my grandmothers. I loved them dearly, and even though I sometimes missed my parents in Raven Rock, they'd always taken good care of me. They kept my grandfather's remains from the Temple because they said the Tribunal were false gods, and Lord Vivec had gone back on his promise to my grandfather. The entire town however, believed them to be evil, batty old Necromancers, and feared them.

Before I arrived home I expected it to be another lecture about how great my grandfather was, how he was the best thing since Barenziah to happen to the Dunmer, or, alternately, using me as target practice for Grandmother Menas' staff. Despite being blind, she was deadly accurate.

When I got there, however, there was a small satchel on the floor and the old women were huddled together- which was unusual, because, like true Telvanni wizards, they were constantly at each other's throats. If one claimed it was Loredas, another would turn around and insist it was Fredas, regardless of the actual day. I suspect this is one of the reasons they have lived so long, even for Dunmer. They live to bicker with each other.

Grandmother Menas, who is my actual grandmother, was the first to sense me. "Boy! We were just talking about you. Your fate is already predetermined by Azura, so you have no choice in the matter." She said, clattering her staff on the ground as she approached me. "What matter, grandmother?" I asked. Grandmother Menas could be painfully vague about important things, then embarrassingly detailed about things I'd rather not hear about. She cleared her throat, and I knew I was in for the long version of the story.

"Well, as you probably know- I don't remember if I told you or not- your grandfather was not from Morrowind. He was a stranger, an outlander, but like a true Dunmer, he rose up and triumphed! And he did many, many other good things. Especially to his favourite retainer-me. Mmm." Grandmother Menas drifted off, losing herself in thoughts of the past. "You weren't his favourite, you trumped up slattern! You just exploited his weakness, you filthy tart." Grandmother Arelas interjected. "Like you were any better, Arelas! Master, I need help with this incantation..." Grandmother Menas snapped back, rapping her staff on the floor stones.

"For the love of Azura, please stop fighting..." I begged, not wishing to see a wizard brawl between them. They turned to look at me. "I never knew grandfather wasn't Morrowind-born, I thought Morrowind was the land of our ancestors." I continued, trying to keep them distracted and on topic. Grandmother Menas rapped me on the head with her staff. "Silly boy, Morrowind is the ancestral homeland of all Dunmer, Morrowind-born or not."

I had hoped that my grandmothers would stop arguing long enough to get to the point, but I was wrong. "No, we don't know the Nerevarine's ancestors, he was born in the Imperial city." Grandmother Omavel cut in. "Morrowind is the ancestral homeland of all Dunmer. If it was not his ancestral homeland, he would be an Altmer. I would think one such as you would know your history, or has restoration magic rotted your brain?" Grandmother Menas snapped back.

I shrunk away, predicting a storm of heated words and magicka. Thankfully, Grandmother Seleth stepped in. "Can we get on with it? I don't have all eternity, you know, and I'd like to continue my research, maybe get in one final breakthrough before I DIE." Grandmother Menas opened her mouth to say something, but shut it right away. I took my chance. "Why did you wish to see me, Grandmothers?" I asked, politely.

"I was getting to that! You're being sent to Skyrim. Take that bag, and go down to the docks." Grandmother Menas replied. "Why am I being sent away?" My mind quickly went through things I could have done to upset them. The only things I could think of were interrupting one of their rituals to Hircine when I was very young, (Didn't look too much like a summoning ritual to me) trying to join the temple, and futile attempts to sneak out of the tower. It's hard to do much to upset them when they can see the future.

"Because Azura said so, and because we aren't going to be around to hold your hand forever. We're old, Nerevar, and you are a fully grown mer." Grandmother Menas said, and I felt a twinge of sadness. They spoke the truth. I turned to leave, but Grandmother Menas called me back. " Wait, boy. Take this with you. It belonged to your grandfather." She said, pushing a lump of melted metal into my hand. It vaguely looked like a moon and star, but was otherwise unremarkable. "Thank you." I said, without enthusiasm. Another relic of the past, a reminder of something I wasn't.

"Don't lose it, whatever you do. It'll bring you...luck." She insisted. Normally I would have just shoved it back in my grandfather's urn while they weren't looking, but I could feel something strangely special about it. Not an enchantment, but some otherworldly influence. Begrudgingly, I put it in my pocket. I was clearly dismissed, for my grandmothers had now turned their backs on me and were resuming their argument. When I heard the crackling of magicka, I decided it would be a good time to leave. I snuck out, closing the door quietly behind me. Not that they would have noticed anyway.

Outside the tower, it was a clear day, with my grandmother's House Telvanni banner flapping gently in the wind. I sighed. For women that could supposedly see the future, they spent a lot of time lost in the past, with their relics from a dead age. Giving the village one last look, I set off for the Raven Rock docks, and the adventures in Skyrim that awaited.


	2. Chapter 2: Execution

It was only a short walk from my grandmother's house to the docks, and soon enough I found a cargo ship going to Blacklight that was willing to take me. It was a ship captained by a few of the Nords from the north of Solstheim, from a mead hall called Thirsk. The old sea captain looked me over a bit and laughed when I requested passage. "Yer the spitting image of a chieftain from way back, boy, though I can tell you ain't done a day's work in your life." Regardless, he took my gold and let me board, while humming a strange old cadence.

When we docked at Blacklight it was evening, and I was one good robe poorer thanks to the Captain's suggestion that I trade it to him for some peasant rags to avoid attracting the wrong sort of attention. When the leader of a gang of smugglers suggests 'your dress' would look better on his wife, you don't argue anyhow. I hurried through the city, with nobody paying much attention to me. Apparently young Dunmer peasants were a common enough occurrence that nobody paid me any mind. I silently thanked Almsivi for the old sea captain.

Eventually city gave way to countryside, then Dunmeth Pass itself. The road to Skyrim had been well travelled by my people as they fled Morrowind in droves. My grandmothers refused to talk about the exodus from Morrowind, so I only knew fragments. Every time I asked, they'd just shake their heads and glance towards the two urns that were placed on the family shrine. One was my grandfather's, and another was a Telvanni mage-lord they always had promised to tell me about "when I was older".

I was shaken from my thoughts by the sound of voices in the distance. I was afraid it was bandits, but in retrospect, I had nothing of value on me any more save a twisted hunk of metal. Nonetheless, I walked more cautiously. I was about to enter a strange new land, and bandits or not, it was best to be on my guard. I soon caught up with the owners of the voices. It was a group of some sort of Nord militia. They viewed me with mild disgust and suspicion, but allowed me to walk with them.

Soon we came to a clearing, where a man was frantically trying to untie a strange four legged creature. I was curious about the creature, but didn't get a chance to have a closer look. As soon as we were all in the clearing, we were ambushed by Imperial soldiers. I had never been in a fight before, so I did the reasonable thing and began cowering. Luckily, the leader of the Nords ordered his group to surrender. I was bound and forced at sword point into a cart, which was powered by the four-legged creatures. Wherever they were taking us, it was a long journey, and I soon fell asleep from exhaustion.

When I woke up, it was a lot colder, and my whole body ached. One of the Nords spoke to me. "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." The thief he was referring to grumbled. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." I figured that meant the four-legged creature was called a 'horse', but I had no idea what these 'Stormcloaks' had done.

Then the thief addressed me. "You there. You and me- we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The Stormcloak snapped back. I remained silent, unsure of what to say. I was caught in the crossfire of an argument I didn't understand. It reminded me of home. "Shut up back there!" The soldier driving the cart ordered. Both men ignored him. "And what's wrong with him, huh?" the thief asked of the gagged man next to me. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." The other Stormcloak snapped.

The thief suddenly sounded concerned. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the Rebellion. But if they've captured you...oh gods, where are they taking us?" "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." The thief started to panic. "No, this can't be happening, this isn't happening!" "What village are you from, horse thief?" The Stormcloak asked. They both seemed to have completely forgotten about me. "Why do you care?" the thief mumbled. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." the Stormcloak responded solemnly.

I was no Nord, but I tuned out from their discussion and thought of my home in Solstheim. My family, that I'd never see again, Temple boys I'd never get to have a crush on, stories about my ancestors I'd never hear, and Sermons I'd never read. Was this the fate Azura had planned for me? I tried not to cry as I prayed to Almsivi. I started paying attention again when I heard something about a headsman, and the Stormcloak across from me spat disdainfully. "Look at him, General Tullius the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this." I felt quite offended, being of elven descent myself. I didn't know what a Thalmor was, but I could tell from the tone in his voice it wasn't a good thing.

Soon the carts stopped, and an Imperial captain began barking orders. We all jumped out of the cart. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." she ordered. "Empire loves their damned lists." the Stormcloak that had been sitting across from me sighed. One by one, the others were called. The thief, his name was Lokir according to the list, tried to run, but was shot down by Imperial archers. Eventually they got to me. "Wait. You there. Step forward." The soldier with the list said.

I walked forward slowly and deliberately, so that there was no confusion about my intentions. "Who are you?" He asked, while the captain glared at me. "Nerevar Menas, of the tower of Tel Menas, in Solstheim." I responded. "Another refugee? Gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf." The person commented, writing down something on the list. He turned to the Captain. "Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list." He asked. I felt a faint flutter of hope. The Captain scowled. "Forget the list. He goes to the block." she commanded, and my heart sank. "By your orders, Captain." he replied, then turned back to me. "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Morrowind. Follow the Captain, prisoner."

I followed her to where the others were. I stopped focusing on what was going on around me to pray to Almsivi once more. I could vaguely hear General Tullius making an execution speech, followed by a mysterious roar. Tullius ordered everyone to carry on. A priestess of Arkay started giving the last rites, but I just closed my eyes and focussed on Almsivi, praying for Vehk's courage in the face of death. There was a wet thump, and the voice of the Captain. "Next, the Dark Elf!" she ordered.

Death was here. I opened my eyes, and the mysterious roar echoed again, closer this time. "There it is again. Did you hear that?" The man with the list asked. "I said, next prisoner." The Captain said, more forcefully. My heart was filled with dread- I had none of Vivec's courage. Only a fiftieth of my expected lifespan lived, yet I was already going to join my ancestors and the Tribunal. I took a deep breath and walked over to the block. The captain shoved me onto my knees, and the executioner prepared to strike.

"What in Oblivion is that?" Tullius yelled, before the executioner got a chance to strike. A dragon landed on the tower behind the executioner, and we were both hit by a blast. Everything went to chaos, and I was knocked back by the blast onto the ground. Everything went hazy, but Ralof, the Nord that had been with me in the cart, shook me. "Hey, Dark Elf! Get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" I got unsteadily to my feet and followed him into one of the Imperial towers. While Ulfric and Ralof were discussing the dragon, I took a moment to catch my breath.

I closed my eyes for a second to focus on thanking Almsivi, but I heard a strange, unmistakably Dunmer voice yell. "BY AZURA, WAS THAT A DRAGON?" I opened my eyes. There was a ghost in front of me! I reacted as one does in the face of a ghost- by screaming and scrambling away from it. The ghost put his hand over his face in disgust. "By Oblivion and all its realms, I CANNOT be related to this pathetic weakling! Haven't you ever seen an ancestral ghost before? By Hircine's spear, whatever did I do wrong to be lumped with this spoilt princess?" He grumbled. I took his rambling as an ample opportunity to pass out. The world went dark.


	3. Chapter 3: Helgen Keep

When I came to, the ghost was still there, glaring disapprovingly at me. Nobody else seemed to have noticed his presence. "You may not have noticed, boy, but there is a dragon outside trying to destroy this tower, so we best get a move on. You can sleep later. Up you get." I got up, still unsteady on my feet. Ralof was looking at me, apparently oblivious to the fact there was a Dunmer ghost right in front of me. "Up through the tower, let's go!" He said, and I started running up the stairs.

I nearly fell right back down them again in fright when the dragon smashed through a bit of wall mere seconds before I got to it. If I had been unbound, I probably could have reached out and touched it. The crumbled bits of wall blocked access to the rest of the tower, and Ralof inspected the hole. "See that inn over there? Jump through the roof and keep going. We'll follow when we can." He instructed.

I didn't see any other option, so I closed my eyes and jumped, landing hard on the inn's wooden floor. The ghost was still with me, unfortunately. "What was that, boy? You jump like a terrified maiden!" he snapped, pulling me to my feet. I ran out of the inn straight into the list-man from earlier. "Still alive, prisoner? Stick with me if you want to stay that way." I nodded. I heard one of the citizens call him Hadvar as we set off. I followed him closely as he ran through the village, dodging dragon's fire, bodies and Imperial soldiers.

As we neared the keep, we came across Ralof again. "Out of my way, Ralof, you damned traitor!" He growled. "We're escaping, Hadvar, and you're not stopping us this time." Ralof spat back. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar yelled. Ralof ignored him, and addressed me. "You! Come on, into the keep!" Hadvar ran to a different door. "With me, prisoner, let's go!" I looked to Hadvar, then to Ralof, then back to Hadvar. I ran over to Hadvar, deciding it wasn't his fault I was nearly executed, and that I didn't like Ralof's stance on the Elven races.

Once we were inside, Hadvar turned to me. "Looks like we were the only ones who made it. Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the End Times?" He asked. I shrugged as best I could with my hands bound. "We should keep moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off." He said. I walked over to him, and he quickly sliced through my bindings with a dagger. "There you go. Take a look around, there should be plenty of gear to choose from. I'm going to see if I can find something for these burns." He told me, and walked over to a nearby chest.

"Well boy, high time you started acting like a man. Let's find a sword." The ghost said. I turned to look at him. He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place where I'd seen him before. He had spiky hair, a smug grin, facial features similar to my own, and he was wearing Daedric armour under a robe that had one sleeve torn off. "First things first. Who are you?" I asked.

The ghost looked shocked and slightly offended. "Who am I? Who am I? I think a better question would be who are you, and which rock have you been living under for the last two hundred or so years? I am the Nerevarine! Lord Nerevar incarnate! I died for our people! TWICE!" He huffed, crossing his arms. It suddenly clicked. "Oh, you're my grandfather! I'm Nerevar, your only grandson." I introduced myself, holding out a hand. He snickered. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, boy. Now find yourself a weapon, I've told you want you wanted to know. Loot these chests."

I looked around the room. There were three chests, and Hadvar was already rifling through one. I walked over to the next closest one. There was a helmet and a little bit of gold inside. I felt guilty, but took them anyway. In the other chest, far on the other end of the room, there was some light Imperial armour and a sword. The armour was light and comfortable. The sword, however, was heavy. I nearly fell over trying to swing it. My grandfather scoffed. "That's pathetic. You seriously cannot swing a measly iron sword? Looks like we have a lot of work to do. Can you at least cast some spells?" "I know a couple of spells." I replied, and demonstrated the few I knew- a spell of fire, a spell of lightning, and a spell of healing. He shook his head. "I don't know how you've survived. I can tell you've never had to fight off packs of Rieklings."

Hadvar was looking at me strangely, and I realized he'd heard me talking. What I was talking to, from his perspective, was thin air. "Are you all right, prisoner? Didn't hit your head on the way here, did you?" he asked, looking quite concerned. I rubbed my head in an exaggerated fashion. "I think I took a hit when that dragon attacked. I'm fine now though." I said, making a mental note to stop talking to my grandfather when people were around.

I followed Hadvar through the keep, until we came to a locked iron gate. We could hear Stormcloaks on the other side. Hadvar pulled a chain, and the gate opened. "Hear that? Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them." He murmoured. He walked out into the next room. "Hold on now, we only want to..." He began, but the Stormcloaks attacked. I froze. "Come on boy! FIGHT!" I heard my grandfather urging. Closing my eyes, I swung my sword blindly with all my might. There was a strained cry, and a wet thump. I dropped my sword, exhausted, and opened my eyes.

In front of me, dead on the ground, was one of the Stormcloaks. I felt my stomach churn. I'd just killed someone. "Prisoner? Are you okay? You look awfully pale for a Dark Elf..." Hadvar asked. I hadn't eaten in a while, but I bucked over and vomited anyway. My grandfather patted my back. "There, there. It'll get easier. For now, just loot these bodies." I looked at the corpses. With Hadvar there I couldn't really answer back, so I stripped the bodies while Hadvar opened another gate.

There wasn't much on them, just armour and weapons, which I had no idea where to put. "What should I do with this stuff?" I whispered. "Put it in your handbag, of course. My grandfather replied, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Satchel. It's a satchel, not a handbag. But it will never fit!" I protested. "Look, just try it!" He ordered. I stuffed a few bits of armour in, and sure enough, they fit. Two greatswords and a mace also fit easily. I looked at my grandfather, then to my satchel in amazement. "We have to keep moving." Hadvar urged, and I followed him out of the room and down a large staircase.

There was a roar, and a part of the keep crashed down in front of us, blocking the passage. "Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy." Hadvar cursed, walking through a door to the left. There were Stormcloaks in there, but this time Hadvar didn't waste any breath on them. I didn't have the stomach or energy to try using my sword, so I decided to back Hadvar up with a fire spell. It didn't seem to help much, only singing the Stormcloaks' hairs slightly, but I kept it up until Hadvar killed them. "An old storeroom. See if you can find some potions. Might come in handy." Hadvar said, walking around the corner. I had to agree. I could feel my magicka was low, and I didn't want to make a fool out of myself by trying to use a sword. That one swing earlier had completely drained me.

I looked around the first half of the room. There was a table and few shelves off to one side. I grabbed and quickly ate a bit of bread I found on the table. I felt a bit better even from that little morsel, and turned my attention to the shelves. I found two potions and some gold, and quickly stuffed them in my bag. It still didn't seem to be filling up,even after having armour and weapons put into it. I concluded that my bag was probably a pocket of Oblivion.

In the second half of the room I found a barrel of potions, and a sack with a few apples in it. I could feel Hadvar looking at me, so I decided to save the apples for later. As I was walking to rejoin him, I saw a basket of eggs. I took them too, but felt a little self-conscious about what Hadvar must have been thinking about me. "Done then? This way." I felt another wave of self-consciousness run through me. As I followed him deeper into the keep, I could hear shouts and screams. "The torture room. Gods, I wish we didn't need these." Hadvar commented. I nodded. There was a torture room at Tel Menas, and while I knew it got used, I never saw or heard any of it.

When we got down there, the torturer and his assistant were scuffling with some Stormcloaks. With us helping, they soon were dealt with. "You fellows happened along just in time. These boys seemed a bit upset at how I've been entertaining their comrades." The torturer explained. Hadvar looked disgusted. "Don't you even know what's going on? A dragon is attacking Helgen!" he snapped. "A dragon? Don't make up nonsense. Although, come to think of it, I did hear some odd noises coming from over there..."

My grandfather paid the two of them no mind, wafting around the room with a nostalgic grin on his face. "Ahh, a torture room. One time me and Ary- I mean, a lady- set up a torture room in the basement of Tel Uvirith for a sexy good time." he reminisced. "Ary? Sounded like you were going to say someone's name for a moment there." I queried, and he got defensive. "No, I can't even remember his name. HER name. Her. It was definitely a her." I was about to express my doubt about his claim when I noticed Hadvar and the torturer had stopped arguing.

"Wait a second, looks like there's something in this cage." Hadvar mentioned, jogging over to it. "Don't bother with that. Lost the key ages ago. Poor fellow screamed for weeks." The torturer snickered. Hadvar ignored him and turned to me. "See if you can get it open with some picks. We'll need everything we can get." He instructed. "Sure, take all my things. Please." The torturer said sarcastically. "Grab what you can and let's go." He ordered, jogging out of the room and leaving me alone with the surly old torturer.

I quickly grabbed the few picks and books around the room. As I shoved the last book into my bag, something curious happened. I was suddenly unable to move at faster than a slow walking pace. "Overencumbered. Carrying too much stuff. You kids are lucky. In MY day, being overencumbered meant not being able to move at all!" My grandfather explained as I painstakingly moved at snail-pace to the locked cage.

I had never picked a lock before, but I decided to try anyway. In the cage was gold and a spell book next to the corpse of a mage. Purely by luck, I managed to open the lock, and without breaking a single pick in the process. I looked to my grandfather for praise, but he just shook his head. "Lockpicking is for slave races. Us civilized races use open spells." I remained silent, and just picked up the items.

Having limited speed got very frustrating very quickly, but I was too stubborn to drop anything. I followed Hadvar as fast as I could through what appeared to be a prison block. He had to keep stopping and waiting for me to catch up, but I didn't want to have to try and explain to him. I was just lucky he hadn't asked me where I was putting all of my stuff yet. Soon we got to a crumbled bit of wall that led into a tunnel. "Come on, hurry up!" Hadvar snapped. He was getting impatient. I apologised "Sorry, I'm going as fast as I can." The tunnel was definitely man-made, and lit by braziers. Someone had been here before.

The tunnel led into a built-up section of cave. There was a large group of Stormcloaks, trying to find the way out as well. While Hadvar took on three-to-one odds, I blasted my fire spell, unable to move fast enough to fight effectively. I unintentionally set alight a large puddle of flammable liquid, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. I gagged. "Impressive, boy! Too bad it was an accident. Just like your father." My grandfather commented, poking one of the charred corpses.

I followed Hadvar into another tunnel and over a wooden bridge. The dragon's roar sounded again, and another part of the keep fell in. I suddenly felt very homesick. Being an organic structure, Tel Menas would not have been falling apart. Being an organic structure imbued with powerful magic, Tel Menas would probably have tendril-slapped the dragon right out of the sky. We were in a cave, and it had a small stream running through it. We followed that as far was we could, and then moved deeper into the cave, straight into a nest full of giant spiders.

At this point, I seriously considered becoming arachnophobic. However, my fire spell seemed to have a greater effect on giant spiders than on Stormcloaks. Burning spider made me feel a lot less queasy than burning people. After they were dealt with, I followed Hadvar through a narrow part of the cave, and we were soon back with the stream again, as well as a sleeping bear. "Hold up. There's a bear just ahead. See her? I'd rather not tangle with her right now. We might be able to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch where you step. Or, if you're feeling lucky, you can take this bow. Might take her by surprise. I'll follow your lead and watch your back." Hadvar whispered, handing me a bow. I stowed it in my satchel, deciding to sneak rather than play Bosmer.

I moved slowly and carefully, and kept as much distance between me and the bear as possible. Unfortunately, the bear woke up anyway and attacked, so we were forced to kill it. "Sneaking about is for slave races anyway." My grandfather said with contempt. Just after going through one more section of the cave, we found the way out. "This looks like the way out! I was starting to wonder if we'd ever make it!" Hadvar exclaimed.

The sun was setting, and there was a definite chill in the air. "Closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle's the blacksmith there. I'm sure he'd help you out." Hadvar explained. I made a move to follow him. "It's probably best if we split up. Good luck." He said, and jogged away. I didn't mind too much, however. We were on a road, so it was a simple matter of following it to Riverwood. Giving the cave entry one last look, I set off at snail-pace down the road.


	4. Chapter 4: Riverwood

To my surprise, Hadvar stopped and waited for me a little while down the road. I followed him, gratefully. "Listen, you should go to Solitude and join up with the Imperial Legion. We could really use someone like you." He suggested, as we were walking along. He sounded genuine about it. It's not often that happens after someone's heard you talking to a ghost they can't see. After a while of walking, he stopped and pointed to a ruin in the distance while he was waiting for me to catch up. "See that ruin up there? Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it." He explained.

Growing up in Solstheim, I knew all about Draugr- Nordic undead with a taste for flesh that milled around Nord burial barrows. Dunmer cremate their dead, preferring instead to let Ancestral Spirits and Bonewalkers guard the deceased. Of course, this has varied. In the Third Era, most remains went to the Ghostfence to protect Morrowind, with a small part of each one going to the local Temple ashpits. In this Era, in my village, all remains went to the Temple. Except for the ones at Tel Menas, which were kept in urns around a shrine. Occasionally an adventurer sought to plunder it after hearing about it at the cornerclub and having too much Mazte. I don't know what my grandmothers did to them and I don't want to know.

"Does this guy ever shut up?" my grandfather complained. "Yeah, he's a bit like you." I snapped back, trailing after Hadvar. "Listen, as far as I'm concerned you've already earned your pardon. But until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just stay clear of other Imperial soldiers, and avoid any complications, all right?" Hadvar advised as we got closer to Riverwood. I wasn't a criminal and shouldn't need a pardon anyway, but I didn't want to cause trouble. "Yes, sir." I mumbled. Hadvar smiled. "I'm glad you decided to come with me. We're almost to Riverwood." "Whoah, hold on there Mister fancy-pants, you two have only just met! Are you a Crassius Curio type, huh?" my grandfather asked rhetorically, knowing full well Hadvar could not hear him.

It was nearly midnight before we got there, my slow pacing being mostly to blame. Hadvar took me to his uncle's house. "Sigrid, we have company!" Hadvar's uncle called when we walked in. Sigrid, who I guessed was Hadvar's aunt, walked up from downstairs. She beamed when she saw us. "Hadvar! We've been so worried about you! Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down and I'll get you something to eat." she said. I didn't need to be asked twice. I walked to the end of the table and sat down. "Now then, boy. What's the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?" Hadvar's uncle asked.

"I don't know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius' guard we were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked...by a dragon." Hadvar replied. "A dragon? That's...ridiculous. You're not drunk, are you boy?" Hadvar's uncle scoffed. "Husband. Let him tell his story." Sigrid insisted. Hadvar shrugged. "Not much more to tell. This dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it out myself if not for my friend here. I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened. I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay." he said.

I blushed at the mention of me. Hadvar's uncle looked at me. "Of course! Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine. But I need your help. We need your help. The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless...we need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt. He begged me. I nodded. "Of course. It's the least I can do." A little girl, who'd been sitting on a bed the whole time, jumped up excitedly. "Hadvar! Did you really see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?" She asked. "Hush, child. Don't pester your cousin." Sigrid told her off, as she served us leftover roast and bread. I tried to remember my manners, but hunger and fatigue took precedence. I wolfed down my food, acting as far from Telvanni highborn as possible. After I'd finished, Sigrid showed me to a bed.

I must have slept for at least nine hours. It was bright outside when I woke up, and my grandfather's ghost was nowhere to be seen. I crunched on one of the apples I'd gotten in Helgen. He must have gone back to the afterlife, I thought. I noticed the little girl watching. I held out another apple. "Would you like one?" I asked. She took it. "Thanks, Mister! Did you really see a dragon?" She asked, excited. I could tell she had a lot of questions and I didn't have to be anywhere in a hurry. "Sure thing! It was huge!" I replied. Her eyes widened. "Wow! Did you get burnt? Your skin is all dark!" she asked in amazement. I realized that she'd probably never seen a Dunmer before in such a small town. "No, no, I'm not burnt. I'm a Dunmer. Your people call us Dark Elves." I laughed. The little girl looked at her mother, who was looking at her disapprovingly. "I better go... By the way, my name is Dorthe. My father, Alvor, is the blacksmith, and I'm his assistant. I mean, apprentice." She said. I smiled. "I'm Nerevar. I'm an...adventurer, I suppose." I trailed off.

When I walked outside, it was a foggy morning. My grandfather's ghost was outside, watching a woman trying to work the forge. It was clear she'd never done it before. "Morning, boy!" He called cheerily. "What are you doing out here?" I whispered. He gestured to the woman. "Behold, that ass. She's a bit lacking in the chest department, but look at that behind!" he grinned. "Grandfather, you are staring!" I admonished, a bit louder than I intended. Alvor and the woman looked up. "Etrand, meet my nephew's Elven friend." he said.

Etrand furrowed her brow. "He was just talking to himself, wasn't he?" she asked. I glared at my grandfather. "Sorry, it's a bit difficult to explain." I apologized. Etrand clapped her hands. "Try me. I'm a Breton. We're practically born into weird things. Alvor looked at us. "I'll leave you two boys to it, then." He muttered, walking over to the forge to pick up where Etrand had left off. I felt myself redden. "Oh. You're a man." I spluttered, feeling quite foolish. Etrand's eyebrow raised again. "That I am. Why, were you interested? You're not really my type." he huffed. "I'm not, really. I'm just embarrassed I mistook you for a woman."

"Let's just start over, shall we? I'm Etrand, Etrand Masolaude. You've probably heard of my family." he introduced himself, holding out a hand. I shook it. "I haven't, but I'm Nerevar. Telvanni Nerevar Menas. You might have heard of my family." Etrand shook his head. "No, but I guess that means we're both old money in our respective homelands. Even if we have fallen on...harder times." he said, and I could feel him staring at my hair.

After a little while of uncomfortable silence, he clapped his hands again. "Now! Care to explain why you talk to yourself? Like I said, I'm Breton. I'm used to all kinds of crazy, and I consider myself relatively learned in the traditions and cultures of other races." He insisted. I sighed. "Fine. You know the Nerevarine? He's my grandfather. And for some reason, his ghost is following me. I know people can usually see ancestral ghosts, but he's there." Etrand's eyes widened and seemed to shimmer. "That's AMAZING! The Nerevarine! And his ghost is following you! And you two are related! I can tell we're going to get along just fine." He exclaimed.

I smiled. "Great! I was wondering if you could show me around. I only arrived here last night, from Helgen." I asked. "Wait...you were in Helgen too? I thought you looked familiar. If that dragon had arrived a couple of moments later, you would have been..." He replied. "Wait a minute, nobody apart from me was with Hadvar." I mentioned. "I followed Ralof, of course. Those Imperials were trying to kill us, remember?" He explained.

I fidgeted nervously. "Uhh...right. Do you at least know the way to the local trader? I have some goods to sell." I asked, attempting to change the topic. "Of course. It's right over there. I happen to be running an errand for him at the moment, if you'd like to come along." he replied, pointing across the road. I nodded. "Sure I'll come along. It'll be fun!" I said, and Etrand pointed to a building a little north. "I'll be waiting for you in that inn down there. Don't take too long!" he instructed cheerily, walking back over to Alvor. "Well done, boy! A new lady friend and she already wants to 'adventure alone' with you. I'm telling you boy, she wants it."

The tradehouse was warm and welcoming. I walked up to the counter. "I have some goods I'd like to sell, please." I said. "Of course. Let's take a look." The trader replied. I upended my satchel onto the counter, and picked out the things I wanted to keep. The trader's eyes widened a bit, but he gave me a fair price. To be honest, I was just glad to be able to move properly again. "Do you have any spellbooks I may purchase?" I asked, eager to expand my magical knowledge. "I have a few. If you want more you'll have to go to the College of Winterhold." He replied, pulling out a few old books. I settled for a frost spell, and was about to reach for a purple-covered book when my grandfather stopped me. "You don't want THAT book, boy. I have nothing against the Conjuration school, but that particular spell relates to Necromancy. You don't have the stomach for that." He warned. I retracted my hand, paid for my book, and hurried out. I prayed Almsivi would forgive me for nearly getting mixed up in the blasphemous art of Necromancy.

After I got outside, I saw a Bosmer lugging wood about. "Well, well. A Bosmeri woodcutter. Now I've seen everything." My grandfather laughed. The Bosmer looked at me suspiciously. "Did I see you talking to Sven? Maybe not. Maybe...Nevermind. But I would stay away from him if I were you." He warned. "What's your problem with Sven?" I asked. "He's a bard, so he says. Occasionally finds time to do his job here at the mill. Thinks his ballads and sonnets are going to convince Camilla Valerius to marry him. As if she would say yes! An intelligent, beautiful woman like her wouldn't fall for that nonsense...I hope." He explained. "

You...hope? You don't sound so sure." I mentioned. "I've been thinking...maybe Camilla needs a little help seeing Sven for what he is. Can you give her this letter, and say it's from Sven? I think I've matched his lack of cleverness perfectly." he asked, pressing the letter onto me without waiting for my reply. It would have been simple enough, if I'd known who Camilla Valerius was. Instead, I made my way to the inn to ask Etrand,

Etrand was eating lunch and listening to the bard sing. He looked excited when he saw me. "Ready to go? Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Actually, I need your help. I'm looking for Camilla Valerius." I explained. Etrand looked at the bard. "I think we better continue this line of conversation outside." he insisted, nudging me towards the door.

Once we were outside, Etrand turned to me. "Didn't you just go to the tradehouse? Camilla Valerius lives there! Don't you ask people their names when you speak to them?" He asked, with a look of amazement on his face. "To be fair, Etrand, so far people in Skyrim don't seem to talk TO me as much as talk AT me. It's like they think their name is floating above their head or something." I protested. Etrand sighed. "So what do you need to find Camilla Valerius for?" I pulled out the letter. "A Bosmer told me to give this letter to her." I replied. "Faendal. The Bosmer's name is Faendal. Good thing we're outside, that bard in the inn is Sven. Those two are fighting over Camilla, just in case Faendal didn't mention that. But look, over there. That's Camilla." Etrand pointed out an Imperial woman walking through town towards the tradehouse.

I intercepted her. "Excuse me, miss, but are you Camilla Valerius? I have a letter for you. From Sven." I lied, holding out the letter. "Another poem, I'll bet. He does know how to make a girl blush." she said, taking the letter and beginning to read it. "What's this? If that oaf thinks all I'm going to do is stay in that filthy house of his and clean I'll...You can tell Sven he already has a mother. I'm not speaking to him anymore." She sniffled. I felt a bit guilty, but went to report to Faendal.

He was still lugging wood about, and my grandfather still found that highly amusing. "I don't think Camilla will be spending any more time with Sven." I mumbled, guiltily. Faendal brightened up. "I appreciate your help. Please, take this. Some gold I've saved up working at the mill." he thanked me, and gave me a few septims. I decided to check on Camilla before going of adventuring with Etrand, just to make sure she was all right. She smiled when she saw me. "You're a strapping young man. Don't be a stranger." She commented, clearly over the whole Sven thing. I blushed deeply, and ran out of the store as fast as I could.

When I stopped, I turned to my grandfather before he could say anything. "No. I know what you're going to say." I panted, trying to catch my breath. He looked amused. "Really? Are the ways of the ancestors already so ingrained in you that I have become predictable? So, what am I going to say then, oh wise one?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're going to suggest I take Camilla myself, in light of the petty argument between Sven and Faendal." I replied. He laughed. "How little you know about women, boy! Getting with her would be a bad idea. She's clearly the town Silt-Strider." I recalled things I'd heard at the Temple about grandmother Menas. "But...didn't YOU end up with the uh, 'town Silt-Strider'?" I asked. "I was VERY drunk!" he huffed. I think he thought I was referring to an actual Silt-Strider. In any event, I decided I didn't want to continue this conversation, and set off to go see Etrand.


End file.
